by Sara Desai
“I thought you said no missionary,” he whispered.
“Oh my God,” she raged, keeping her voice low. “Are you getting off on this?”
“I’m a man. You’re rubbing yourself all over me. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I thought you were all about self-control.” Something she seemed to be lacking at the moment. Fire licked between her thighs. And the heat . . . She felt like molten lava was running through her veins.
“Not around you.” He pushed himself up with seemingly little effort and held out a hand to assist her, as if he hadn’t just thrown out a little three-word nugget that required further explanation. “Let me help you.”
“No, thank you.” She threw her forearm over her eyes, blocking out the world. “I would rather lie here and die of humiliation.”
“No one has ever actually died of humiliation,” Sam said, his voice amused.
“How would you know?” she spat out. “Have you read the death certificates of every person on the planet? I’m sure out of billions of people, there has been at least one death attributed to utter humiliation.”
“You must be Nasir’s daughter, Layla.” The unfamiliar male visitor had a deep voice and a keen sense of observation.
Still lying on the floor, Layla moved her arm away. The visitor’s black shoes were clean and polished, his dress pants smartly cuffed. He wore patterned argyle socks that reminded her of the ones Dev had worn for his high school graduation.
Sam crouched beside her and used two hands to pull her up to a sitting position. “Are you hurt?”
“How kind of you to ask about my well-being after worrying about your $200 tie.” Still, she accepted his help because there was no way to get up gracefully in a skirt and heels.
“Layla Patel, meet my friend John Lee,” Sam said. “He’s an attorney in the law firm upstairs. He’s the one who told me about the vacancy in the office.”
“You have nice socks, John Lee.” Layla shook his hand.
“Thank you.” John was a good-looking guy, his face long and angular, a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. Slightly rumpled in rolled-up shirtsleeves, his pink-and-blue-striped tie askew, he looked more like a university professor than any lawyer she knew.
“Which Lee in Lee, Lee, Lee & Hershkowitz are you?” Daisy asked.
“The second.” John bent down to pet Max, who soaked up the love, rubbing his head under John’s broad palm.
“Cute dog. I’m sorry he has to go,” John said. “I would have liked to get to know him better.”
Daisy frowned. “Why does he have to go?”
Sam shot John a not-too-subtle warning look and drew a line across his throat.
“Sam doesn’t want him in the office,” Layla offered. “He thinks it’s unprofessional.”
“I told you not to tell him Max peed on his chair.” Daisy picked Max up and hugged him to her chest. “I’ll get it cleaned next week.”
John gave Sam a puzzled look. “I thought they were le—”
“They aren’t.”
“Didn’t you give her the—”
“No.”
“We aren’t what? Give me what?” Layla didn’t have a good feeling about this hatchet job of a conversation. There was something going on that Sam didn’t want her to know.
Sam clapped John on the shoulder and led him toward the door. “Everything’s good. The office is working out well. I’m working on a big pitch, and Layla’s getting her business up and running. She’s having a hard time finding corporate clients but I think she just needs to figure out a marketing strategy.”
“I do?”
“You should give her Evan’s card,” John said. “He’s great at this kind of thing. And if I have any clients looking for staff, I’ll send him her way.”
“Who’s Evan?” Her curiosity piqued, Layla followed behind them.
“And Daisy’s doing a fantastic job at reception,” Sam continued. “So I think we’re all set here.”
“Fantastic?” Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “What were you guys smoking in there?”
“Bye, John,” Layla called out as he pushed open the door. “Stop by anytime. We always have extra food from the restaurant. Just come and help yourself.”
“That’s a good idea,” Daisy said. “Lure him back with treats. I’ve always wanted to get into a lawyer’s briefs.”
Layla followed Sam back to his desk. “Did you hit your head when we fell? Why did you chase your friend out of the office? And what did you mean about figuring out my marketing strategy?”
“I didn’t realize you were struggling.” Sam pulled out his phone and texted as he talked. “You don’t seem to have a problem finding employees, but they don’t pay the bills; the corporates do. And they don’t know you exist.”
“Thank you for mansplaining my job to me.” Too bad Sam’s clients were all about letting people go. With his corporate connections and her growing stable of workers, they could have made a good team. “The problem isn’t that I am unaware of who pays the bills, but that I’m not good at selling myself to them. I didn’t have to hunt for clients in New York. Glenlyon Morrell is one of the East Coast’s biggest recruitment agencies. The clients just came to us.”
“That’s why you need a brand.” His phone buzzed and he checked the message.
“They have my name,” she protested. “My old boyfriend Jonas is a social media star and he uses his own name, Jonas Jameson.”
“Social media is different.” Sam sniffed his chair, wafting the air toward his nose. “He isn’t trying to attract corporate clients. A company name gives the impression of stability and creates trust when you’re dealing with other companies. It makes you appear polished and legitimate. Everyone who comes in here mentions ‘Nasir Patel’s daughter’ or ‘the daughter of the owners of The Spice Mill.’ You’re trading off your parents’ brand. You need to figure out who you are and what core values you are going to bring to your company that will make you stand out in a crowded market. It was one of the first things Royce and I did when we went into business together and it made all the difference.”
Although she didn’t like to be told how to run her company—she had a business degree, after all—everything he said made sense. She vaguely remembered learning about branding in one of her courses, but she hadn’t paid much attention because she was more focused on the human resource side of business operations. But why was he helping her? Where was the sarcasm? The cutting remarks? What was his angle on this?
Sam bent to pick his papers off the floor. Layla crouched down to help him. Maybe they didn’t always get along, but Daisy had crossed a line messing with his personal space, and she felt bad that he had to clean up after her.
“What if I don’t know who I am or what I really want?”
“Then I won’t have to chaperone ten blind dates because you won’t need an office.”
Layla blinked and realized he was being serious. “That kind of sucks as a motivational speech.”
“I have a better one, but I only use it when someone loses their job.” He moved to stand at the same time as Layla and their heads collided, knocking her off-balance and onto her ass.
“Jesus Christ. I’ll be lucky to make it out of the office alive today.” Sam rubbed his head. “You’re the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met.”
“It wasn’t entirely my fault.” Dazed, she shook her head, trying to clear away the stars dancing in front of her eyes and stop the ringing in her ears.
He sighed. “I’ll help you up.”
“I am up.”
“No, you’re on the floor. Again.” He kneeled in front of her, framing her face with gentle hands. “I’m checking for a concussion. Look into my eyes.”
She stared into his warm brown eyes, floated on a chocolate sea. “Are you trying to hypnotize me? I have
to tell you I’m very susceptible to suggestion. Daisy and I went to see the Amazing Sinbad at the Beacon Theatre in New York. He convinced me I was naked on the stage, and I screamed and tried to cover myself with a program before running out onto the street. Daisy had to bring me back so he could unhypnotize me, but I still wear two sets of clothes when I go to live theater.”
“You really are something.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” His long lashes swept down when he blinked. She’d never seen a man with such long eyelashes, but then she’d never stared into a man’s eyes for so long.
“You have nice eyelashes,” she said. “Sexy.”
His corded throat tightened when he swallowed. “I can honestly say no one has ever complimented my eyelashes before.” His hands were warm on her cheeks as he carefully tilted her head from side to side. “I think you’ll be okay. Any blurred vision? Nausea? Dizziness?”
Maybe she did have a head injury. She couldn’t be seeing clearly if the man who was fussing over her was the same Sam who had been so worried about his tie. “No.”
He released her face to run gentle fingers over her forehead. “I can already feel a bump here. We need to get some ice on it.”
“You have a hard head.”
“My dad used to say I had a thick skull, but that was when I was being stubborn.”
She couldn’t imagine Sam as a kid. There was nothing innocent or carefree about him. But she liked the little peek into his past.
“I think I’m okay to get up.” She accepted his help and he pulled over his chair.
“Actually, I’ll sit on mine. Daisy wasn’t lying about Max’s accident.” She made her way across the office and sat behind her desk. “He was marking his territory. You’re the only two males in the office, and he wanted to let you know who’s boss.”
“That’s it. He’s definitely gone. There can only be one alpha here.”
Layla smiled with amusement. Sam was delightful when he was annoyed. “Lakshmi Auntie says the number three is unlucky. If Max leaves, we’ll have bad luck, and neither of our businesses will succeed.”
Sam sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”
“I’m keeping the good-luck fish my aunt just gave me, and I won’t be making any more calls on Tuesdays and Thursdays, if that’s what you mean.”
“Make sure you mention that to my friend Evan when you call him.” He rounded his desk and handed her a card. “He’s a PR and marketing consultant. He’ll be able to give you tips about branding.” He hesitated. “I’m meeting him for a drink tomorrow night. You can join us if you want and pick his brain for free.”
Nausea rose in her throat, and it wasn’t from her head injury. She had been unkind and now he was just trying to help. “Now I feel terrible. I would love to meet him. I really am sorry about the knock on the head and not telling you about Max.”
“I’m not.” Sam grinned and settled into his seat. “I switched our chairs.”
• 9 •
SAM threw a few dollars in the tip jar for the bartender of Red Rock, an upscale sports bar in San Francisco’s Design District. What the hell had he been thinking inviting Layla out tonight? Evan was currently between girlfriends and desperate to get laid.
“Describe yourself in three words.” Evan brushed back his perpetually mussed surfer dude hair and flashed Layla a sensual smile.
“Passionate. Caring. Impulsive.”
Sam would have added sexy and smart to the list, but he wasn’t about to share his opinions with Evan, who had been laying it on thick ever since they arrived. His gaze flicked to the clock above the polished wood bar, barely visible among the jumble of sports pictures and paraphernalia that covered the walls. How long should he wait before making an excuse to take her away? Evan was giving her some helpful tips, but he was also ready to make his move.
“Anything else?” Evan sipped his beer, watching her like a predator on the hunt. Sam had to bite back his irritation. He knew his friend was a player. Why had he expected Evan to act any other way after Sam had introduced him to the most beautiful woman in the bar?
“Competitive.” Her gaze slid to Sam. “I grew up with a perfect big brother—straight A’s, star athlete, scholarships, engineer—oh, and he was a son. I banged my head against that wall all my life.” She shrugged. “Sam understands. It’s a desi thing.”
Sam looked away, his gut twisting at the reminder of his failure as both a brother and a son. There was no game on tonight to distract him, but the bartender was taking requests for YouTube videos and playing them on the five screens positioned around the bar. Too bad about all the cat videos. Sam wasn’t a cat person. If he were to get a pet, it would be a dog—big, strong, protective, and willing to chase away intruders like Evan, who was all over Layla.
“I don’t like the thought of this lovely head being hurt.” Evan brushed a gentle finger over her forehead, pulling Sam’s attention away from cats and cucumbers.
Sam’s beer went down the wrong way and he choked. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? His motives for inviting Layla were entirely self-serving. Even without the game, she would be more inclined to leave the office if her business was going well and she could afford her own space. So why did he feel the urge to punch Evan in the face?
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a quick call and check in with my mom.” Layla slid off her chair and away from Evan’s roving hands. “She’s short-staffed at the restaurant tonight and I just want to make sure she’s doing okay.”
After she’d gone, Sam glared at his friend. “I brought her to you as a potential client, not a hookup.”
“She’s sweet, hot, and she’s got a perfect ass. I’ll do the client thing tomorrow.” Evan hesitated. “Unless you two—”
“No.” Sam shook his head dismissively. “She’s chaos in its purest form. The office is a disaster. It’s like she’s never heard of a paper-free workspace. We’ve got a snarky manic pixie dream girl receptionist who looks like she ran through a thrift shop on her way to work, a purple velvet couch with lion’s feet, hordes of aunties tromping through the office, and now John and his partners are going to be coming down every day for free snacks.”
“I like them a bit crazy,” Evan said, watching her talking on the phone across the bar. “More fun in bed.”
Sam clenched his fist by his side. He didn’t want that image in his head. After years in the downsizing business, he’d learned how to keep his emotions in check. What was it about Layla that turned him inside out? They had nothing in common. If she was interested in Evan, there was no reason for him to stand in the way. And yet, that was exactly what he was about to do. Evan didn’t just love ’em and leave ’em. He screwed them and ran away. For the first time Sam wondered why he even called the guy a friend.
“Do me a favor and just help her with the branding,” Sam said. “Keep it professional.”
“Fine.” Evan sighed. “For a start, she’ll need to lose the blue streaks in her hair if she’s looking for corporate clients. What’s that all about?”
“Maybe it’s a New York thing. She worked at a big recruitment agency there, Glenlyon Morell.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Evan said. “They’re very conservative. No way would they be down with blue hair.”
A hipster dude in Doc Martens, torn skinny jeans, and a prefaded fake vintage T-shirt was eyeing Layla from across the room. He nudged his bearded friend, and the two of them sipped from their mason jars while checking her out.
“Maybe she dyed it after she had the bust-up with her boyfriend and moved back to the West Coast,” Sam said absently, his hand tightening around his glass as he watched the two men watching Layla. “He’s a social media star. Jonas James . . . Or something like that.”
“Jonas Jameson.” Evan tapped on his screen. “I’ve heard of him. He�
�s got a lifestyle channel.”
One of the dudes tossed the end of his plaid scarf over his shoulder and drained his jar. Sam tensed as he walked in Layla’s direction.
“Jameson is a real piece of work.” Evan scrolled through Jonas’s channel. “He’s got the same blue streaks in his hair as Layla. Was she in any of his videos? If she’s trying to make a play for corporate clients, she might want to think about asking him to take them down.”
“I dunno. I never really talked to her about it.” The dude made a sudden turn and put his mason jar on an empty table. Sam let out a relieved breath.
“I think this might be her.” Evan studied a video on his phone. “I can’t really tell because my phone is busted. Third time I’ve cracked the screen. I’ll send it to the bartender and we can watch it on the TV. Maybe she’s giving makeup or hair-dye tips. We could learn something.”
“Let me check it out first.” Sam reached for the phone.
Too late. The video flashed on the screen.
By the time Sam was able to wrap his mind around the fact that the woman in the “Blue Fury” video, hair and face streaked blue, screaming and tossing clothes off a third-story balcony and into the grassy courtyard below was Layla, it was already over.
“I can’t believe that was her,” Evan said after “Blue Fury” was replaced with yet another cat video. “That was fucking awesome.”
“She was hurting. She wasn’t trying to put on a show.” Layla had told him about catching her boyfriend cheating on her. She was a passionate woman, fiercely loyal to the people she cared about. No doubt she had expected her romantic partner to be the same. “I just hope she didn’t see it.”
“It’s got over five million YouTube views, dude. Everyone has seen it.”
Everyone including Layla.
Her stricken expression as she approached the table told him everything he needed to know. “What did you do?” she demanded, her furious gaze on Sam.
“Nothing. It wasn’t—”
